


Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Medievalstuck, fantasystuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your main issue lies with your younger brother, Dave: Knight of Derse and High Commander of the Royal Army. Dave, who led you to victory in countless battles, who fought tooth and nail for protection and establishment of the kingdom. Dave, who keeps it no secret that he considers you as fit for kingship as a plow mule."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is a drabble based on this picture (http://napalmarts.tumblr.com/post/17758094570/third-uh-not-so-much-a-doodle-this-sorta-started) and the AU that is started in the livestream chat for that pic. It's kind of a medieval/fantasy AU where all of the kids are their actual titles and all (ie, Dirk is the prince, John is the heir) and yeah. Uhm. Enjoy!!

 

 

You conquer the Prospitians easily, the advice from your Seer proving invaluable as you route them at every turn and beat their golden hordes into submission. But you are not unreasonable with your negotiations. Though your love of conquest beats heavy in your heart, you do not desire to reduce the Prospitians to dust. In the stead of the long-absent Dersite King, you reach an agreement with the defeated. 

You smile wolfishly at the aghast face of the Prospitian King as you claim his son—the male Heir—for your own. 

The Heir is a gracile, wispy-looking child, clad in ornamented blue that matches his eyes. His sister is a Maid of true virtue, and though she piques your interest as well, you know the symbolic wound will cut deeper in Prospit without the presence of the male inheritor.

And even you are not cruel enough to deprive the broken ruler of both of his children.

So instead you receive the Heir’s page—a strong, robust young man with green eyes that regard the Heir with the unconditional loyalty and love of the most faithful of dogs. 

You strip them both of their colors and mark them with the deep shade of bruising violet. 

With the Prospitians sufficiently cowed your expanding empire is effectively secured. You throw a massive celebratory banquet to boast of your victory. Royal purple rains from the sky and you carry the vermillion flush of power high on your cheeks. The Dersites cheer, and the land is at peace once more. 

However, among the domestic battlefield of court intrigues, things are decidedly less halcyon. 

Your main issue lies with your younger brother, Dave: Knight of Derse and High Commander of the Royal Army. Dave, who led you to victory in countless battles, who fought tooth and nail for protection and establishment of the kingdom. Dave, who keeps it no secret that he considers you as fit for kingship as a plow mule. 

Having Dave harbor such resentment for you is certainly a threat, as he holds vast sway and influence over your armed forces. The ghosts of overthrown regimes and slain kings haunt your dreams—however, the lingering threads of your brotherhood preclude you from outright having him executed. So instead, you try to repair the bridges that have been broken. 

After the Prospitian defeat you give Dave the choicest cut and the plushest rump of the two captives while you keep the small and sickly Heir to yourself. You figure it will come across as an act of charity on your part, an extension of brotherhood to the long overshadowed and bitter Knight. But nothing between you and Dave changes—his glowering, hate-filled looks remain the same, even when the Page is draped over his lap. Once you catch a seething look in his eye as you grab the heir by the chin and kiss him, making him mewl like the pet that he is. The murderous glare is entirely unprompted and it seems ridiculous to you that he should wear such a face while the Page is sucking and biting at his neck. 

You don’t understand. You don’t understand Dave’s hatred. You don’t understand why he treats the conquered Page like an equal and not like a prize, a spoil of both of your conquests. You don’t understand the tenderness that he treats the Heir with whenever you decided to switch the captives around. And for some reason that defiant gentleness angers you, so you tug the Heir by his chain and led him back to your side, ignoring Dave’s murderous glances. And when you do meet Dave’s eyes, yours are always passive and humorless. 

You were told that it was better to be hated and feared than to be loved. And for the longest time you believed this, for the longest time your iron fist was rewarded and bolstered by victory after victory as more land came under the Dersite banner. 

But you don’t want Dave to hate you. You don’t. You want his respect. You want his submission and his recognition of your legitimacy as a ruler. But you don’t want his hate. You are isolated and alone on a throne and though you want a subject and a Knight you also need a _brother._

Yet you must rule. The window of abjuration has long since passed, and now the weight of the people of Derse rests on your shoulders. Not upon Dave’s. And if you must draw the ire of your brother to preserve the strength and power of your empire, then so be it. 


End file.
